


A Time to Talk

by ardentaislinn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post S2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye confronts Fitz over a worrying habit he's developed since Jemma disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time to Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavendergaia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday fic for my amazing friend [Lavendergaia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia) . She's such an amazing person and I love her to bits. I don't think that anything I wrote could live up to her talent and general wonderfulness, but I hope this shows my appreciation in some small way.

Fitz hummed to himself, carefully stirring the soup bubbling happily on the stove. He considered his next step, wondering if he was done or if he should make croutons. If he stopped cooking, he might have to _think_ which is definitely something he wasn’t going to do. And there _was_ some stale bread in the breadbox... 

“Fitz?” Skye’s voice came tentatively from behind him. 

“Hmmmm?” He asked, not quite turning around, his mind still on the croutons. 

“What are you doing?” she questioned gently. Something in her voice made him turn fully to look at her face. Her expression was positively brimming with concern. 

“What?” he asked defensively. “I’m cooking everyone dinner, of course.” 

Skye cleared her throat, inching towards him. “And what’s that?” She pointed at another pot he’d set aside. 

Heat crept up the back of his neck. “A risotto I made earlier.” 

“And that one?” She pointed to a tray covered in foil cooling on the bench. 

“...Vegetable bake?” 

“Are we expecting guests?” she asked in half-hearted jest. 

Fitz set his jaw and shook his head, then turned back to the soup. Nearly done. He tested it. A dash more salt. 

“Fitz?” Skye repeated. Fitz shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. He supposed someone was bound to notice eventually. He was just grateful it was Skye and not...literally anyone else. 

“What’s with the cooking?” Her voice was so kind that Fitz sucked in a shuddering breath, his chest constricting painfully. 

“I...stress cook,” he told her in a rush, as if admitting some awful secret. He turned away from her, not wanting to see her reaction. Instead, he took the pot off the stove, stirring one last time for good measure. He peeked over his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Skye replied without judgement, just a small nod. She slid into a seat by the kitchen table. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Fitz shook his head, but the words tumbled out anyway. “It’s just...It requires enough concentration that it stops me thinking about...things, but not so much that it’s added stress, you know? I used to do it for mum. When things got tense or bad at home, if she was upset or worried, I’d always make sure that we at least had a good meal. Even if we didn’t have much food, there was always some combination of things I could put together that would fill us up and taste alright. And now...well...it’s comforting. And sometimes it clears my mind enough that I get some of my best ideas. I was hoping that maybe...” he trailed off. 

Fitz slipped into the chair opposite Skye, and she immediately grabbed his hand. 

“It’s okay to miss her, you know.” 

“I know. And I do. _So_ much.” 

“Me, too.” Skye’s voice was so soft, he almost didn’t hear her. Shame washed over him, almost choking him with its force. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I never thought to ask-” 

Skye squeezed his hand, stopping him. 

“It’s alright. I know how tight you guys were...are...you know. You two had a bond that none of us could compete with.” Fitz’s heart had jolted when she had used the past tense. He knew that everyone else on the base had basically given up the search for Jemma, having other priorities, but he’d thought at least they still believed that she was alive. But he should have realised that they never would have given up, unless they had thought she was truly gone for good. 

An ache started behind his eyes, and he itched to get some kind of cooking utensil in his hand. He couldn’t think it. He _wouldn’t_ think it. 

“Jemma never really got the whole cooking thing,” he said instead. 

“She can’t cook?” Skye asked, surprised. 

“Not really. I taught her a few dishes at the academy that we could make on my portable cooktop. Pancakes were her favourite.” He smiled wistfully for a moment, caught up in the memories. “But she had no feel for it. Followed the recipes too diligently, as if it was a chemistry experiment. She couldn’t tell if things weren’t working out right. If she needed to add more water, or salt, or whatever, she just couldn’t figure it out. If she’d had it her way, we would have eaten out every night. For obvious reasons I couldn’t afford that.” 

“Right. I got pretty good at making stuff on a cooktop, too. Like, a little one that fit in the back of my van. When you don’t have a fridge and limited finances, it’s amazing what you can come up with.” 

Fitz laughed softly. “Tell me about it. I have a taste for things like potato chips dipped in nutella. The combination of salty and sweet is actually pretty nice.” 

Skye nodded, her eyes sparking. “I used to drink my coffee with orange juice in it. Just enough sweetness to cut the bitterness of the coffee. And easier to steal an orange from a bar or a coffee shop than try to shoplift a carton of milk. Where would I have stored it?” 

Fitz grinned and shook his head. “Tea was always the first thing mum and I bought, even when we were running low on money. We made sure we’d never run out of that, at the very least.” 

Skye wrinkled her nose. “You Brits and your tea. Coffee is where it’s at.” 

Fitz laughed and she smiled in response. 

“You know what’s funny?” Skye continued. “For ages, I couldn’t handle eating, like, vegetables.” 

Fitz frowned. “What do you mean? You eat pretty normally from what I’ve seen.” 

“Now, yeah. But when I first got here? All the healthy, fresh, protein-rich stuff tasted...weird. I’d lived off ten cent ramen for so long my tastebuds didn’t know how to handle it all. Too overwhelming.” 

Fitz chuckled. “I bet you make a mean ramen.” 

“You know it! I could cook ramen with a hubcap and a lighter if I had to.” They smiled at each other, and silence descended on the room. 

Fitz desperately tried to grasp some kind of thread to keep the conversation going, but all that was coming to mind were topics he couldn’t bear to talk about. 

Skye’s soft voice sliced into his thoughts. “Fitz, we’re worried about you.” 

He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the words, denying their meaning. “I’m fine.” 

“We can’t keep buying groceries so that you can cook more food than normal humans can eat. Even Mack is hiding his servings in his toolbox.” 

Fitz made a noise of distress - though whether at the implication of Skye’s words or the thought of chilli all over Mack’s tools, even he didn’t know. 

“What do you think Jemma would say if she knew this was happening, Fitz?” Skye persisted. Fitz wondered for the smallest of moments whether it would be childish if he clapped his hands over his ears and refused to listen. But the sick feeling swirling through his stomach demanded that he - finally - have this conversation. 

“She’d tell me to move on,” he began. Skye nodded carefully. “But she’d be a hypocrite,” he continued with heat, sudden anger bursting through him that she was _gone_ and people were expecting him to move on. The torrent shattered his carefully won control, and all the emotions he’d been refusing to feel spilled out in one swirling rush. He was hurt, and scared at the thought of a life without her. He was confused and frustrated and _sad_. But most of all he was just damn angry. He was mad at Jemma for leaving, mad at Skye for giving up, mad at the world for its stupid, shitty timing. But mostly he was mad at himself for all the lost opportunities he never took and his complete inability, his utter _failure_ , to bring Jemma home. 

“She didn’t move on from Trip. She held onto it and it festered within her and _changed_ her. So she’d have no fucking right to tell me to get over it. And frankly I’m insulted that she’d think I would.” 

“Okay,” said Skye slowly. Fitz could see her brain ticking over, looking for a new tactic, a new approach. 

“Skye, please don’t. I can’t do this. I can’t talk about this if what you want from me is to say that Jemma is gone and not coming back. To promise I’ll stop looking for a way to get her out. Because I won’t. I won’t promise you that. She’s in there, and I won’t - can’t - rest until she’s safe and…” his breath hitched and his anger ebbed away just as quickly as it had come. “And with me,” he finished. 

“Fitz, it’s been three months. How much longer will you keep trying?” Pain laced Skye’s words, and guilt for hurting her gnawed at him. 

“Skye, I can’t give up. She’s still out there. And if everyone else is giving up, then it is going to have to be me and me alone to do this. Your moving on only makes me more determined, more focused.” 

Tears slowly filled Skye’s eyes. Fitz made a sound of distress at the sight. “God, it just hurts so much,” she told him. 

“I know.” 

“I miss her. And I don’t want to give up. I want us all to keep looking and searching. But every time I think about it all and her locked in there with god knows what happening I just feel like I’m suffocating. Like there is this weight on my chest that won’t leave and it’s crushing me. It’s _crushing_ me, Fitz. I don’t know if you feel the same way. But I’m worried that you do. And while part of me is glad that you are still looking for her - if anyone can find her it’s you - I also just...what if it takes you, too? Maybe not in the physical sense. But you are already pulling away from us and I...I can’t lose you, too. Whether it be to a rock or you withdrawing from us or you having a complete breakdown. I need you. _We_ need you.” 

Fitz was quiet for a long moment as he stared at her pleading face, digesting her words. “Maybe,” he said eventually, his voice soft and determined. “But she needs me, too. And if I’m the only one in her corner, then I have to fight ten times harder to get her back.” 

Skye sighed and sat back. She stared at him long and hard, and Fitz had no idea what she was thinking. Finally, she took a deep breath. “If I can’t change your mind, then I’m going to have to support you. Maybe then you’ll only have to work nine times as hard.” 

She gave him a half-hearted smile, and Fitz’s lips quirked in return. 

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?” he asked. 

She smiled. “Something like that. So, what can I do to help?” 

A small knot that had been gathering in Fitz’s chest loosened slightly. His smiled widened, and he reached behind himself for the pot of soup. 

“You can try this. Tell me if it needs croutons.” 


End file.
